


Cranberry Vodka

by myn_x



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Swearing, This is supposed to be a fluff thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myn_x/pseuds/myn_x
Summary: Hinata is a bartender, and Aone likes cranberry vodkas. Hinata decides to make himself a part of Aone's life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aoneshouyou (versaillesyoo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaillesyoo/gifts).



> A birthday gift to [@punchserver](https://punchserver.tumblr.com) on tumblr! ilu dude <3

Shouyou looked up at the sound of tinkling bells, unsurprised to see a familiar figure duck before entering the bar. He’d been wiping down the counter after an unruly pair who’d spilled more that they’d drank finally left. Muscle memory carried him through the motion as he watched the newcomer sidestep tables and chairs to get to the bar, hands in his pockets and a world of hurt on his shoulders.

He was well over a foot taller than Shouyou and looked like he could fold a door in half but there was a kindness in the cut of his jaw, a sadness in his eyes, a carefulness in his step that spoke of a gentle soul that was hurting.

Shouyou knew all this from watching the man since he’d first started coming in a week ago. He came in every night, so far, about an hour after they opened, sat at the very end of the counter where Azumane did drinks, and ordered his usual: a single cranberry vodka with three large ice chips.

 

\---

 

Takanobu was the first one to believe that appearances were deceiving, but that didn’t stop the fearful glances and outright avoidance.

As soon as he’d first entered the bar, he searched for familiar faces and relaxed when he found none, his deep sigh clouding in front of him. It was cool inside, just how he liked. He’d picked this spot on a whim, and had been satisfied with his choice.

Then his gaze had landed on the short orange-haired bartender and he balked. So tiny. Takanobu could only think of one word. _Protect_.  

He could have turned around and left. As he considered doing so, though, the bartender caught his eye and smiled, not a big, bright one but a small, encouraging one and he decided on another whim to stay.

But he’d gone straight to the opposite end of the bar where an older bartender, closer to his own height, waited. He didn’t look at the other bartender again, although he could feel his stare, and wished he could shrink in on himself, make himself tiny too.

The last thing Takanobu wanted was to scare him. So he stayed away, but remained close enough to watch him in his peripherals, sometimes got lucky enough to catch his eye.

 

\---

 

He was a construction worker, Shouyou thought, taking in the slightly too tight white T-shirt and undershirt underneath, the dusty jeans, the muddy boots. But it was his physique too, where he was most assuredly not lacking in any respect. He could probably fold a door in half, yeah, and probably tossed cars around for fun.

Not that that intimidated Shouyou. No, not at all.

Shouyou mixed drinks with one half of his brain and watched the stranger with the other. He was glaring down at his glass, contemplation wrinkling his brow. He swirled the drink, his cranberry vodka with three large ice chips, then threw his head back and downed it in one swig.

Unusual, Shouyou thought. He knew the man liked to nurse his drink.

He set the glass down, gently, then pushed back off the stool and walked to the exit, pulling the door open and ducking before disappearing into the night.

Shouyou was shocked into stillness when he caught the stranger’s eyes as he’d turned to leave. He knew that look, saw it in the eyes of too many patrons who ordered strong drink after strong drink, and wondered why the man didn’t try to drown his sorrows like everyone else.

He could only think of one word. _Protect_. He wanted to shield this stranger, no matter how useless it was because of his size.   

If there was anything worthwhile in his life that he’d accomplish, it was making this sad construction worker smile.

 

\---

 

He didn’t like being drunk. Takanobu preferred being in control of his words and actions, liked to be able to hold himself accountable.

He only wanted to dull his senses a little with the cranberry vodka. His drink wasn’t sour enough to make him forget; it didn’t burn his regrets on the way down. He could ask for something stronger, sure, but he wasn’t in the business of self-destruction. He liked the way it made him feel, like having the world on mute for a little. Instead of making him forget, it let him ignore everything.

Everything except that little body that danced around the edges of his vision. A flash of his coppery hair here, the brightness of a red tie there.

When he downed his drink in one go and the world tilted, he took his leave, hoping he’d remembered to buy more water.

 

\---

 

“Asahi, I wanna work your side of the counter tonight.”

“Huh?”

“C’mon, let’s switch things up!”

“Hinata…”

“We can go back to normal tomorrow. Please?”

A sigh of defeat. “I don’t know any of your usuals, though, and people will ask questions.”

“That’s alright. It’ll all work out!”

 

\---

 

Takanobu welcomed the cool air of the bar, rubbing his hands together as he stepped inside. He headed to the left, where the bar was unattended. The right side of the counter was also empty.

He sat down and rested his chin in his palm, tracing patterns in the puddles of condensation that his usual bartender, Azumane, hadn’t yet wiped up. Hearing footsteps, he looked up.

And was level with the unsettling bourbon-colored eyes of the little bartender.  

“Your usual?” he asked. His voice was deeper than Takanobu would have expected, and could tell from the way he held himself that he was as old as he was, give or take a year. It was just his height that suggested otherwise.

He swallowed his surprise and nodded, keeping absolutely still. He didn’t have time to wonder how the bartender knew his drink before he grabbed one of the bottles of vodka stacked against the wall and the pitcher of cranberry juice from the cooler under the counter.

Takanobu shifted under the bartender’s pleasant, warm gaze as he poured two parts vodka, one part juice, and scooped three shards of ice from the icebox next to the cooler, all without breaking eye contact. As he slid the drink toward him, he quirked his lip and said, “Hinata Shouyou.”

 

\---

 

He hadn’t let go of the glass. He was gripping it quite tightly, actually. The coldness seeped under his skin, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The drink only had three pieces of ice, after all.

There was a pause, punctuated by the sounds of glasses and bottles clinking, of low laughter, of Asahi pouring a drink on the other side of the counter.

Shouyou waited, heartbeat loud in his ears, and settled on giving the man seated in front of him some space. He let go of the glass and leaned against the back counter, legs and arms crossed.

The man had placed his hands in his lap after Shouyou had asked about his drink. Now, he tentatively reached for the glass, murmuring a “thanks” before taking a sip.

He breathed a sigh, and Shouyou knew he’d gotten the proportions right. He’d better have, considering he’d watched Asahi make the drink every night for more than a week.

Still watching the man, Shouyou tipped his head, a silent invitation to talk. That was an unwritten part of his job description, listening to the laments of his patrons, even if it was a task he usually found unpleasant.

The man stared at him silently. A blinking contest, then, was what this was going to be. 

 

\---

 

This bartender, Hinata, was perplexing. The lighting was dim, and he was already the brightest thing in the room. So his scrutiny was intense, blinding almost.

He made Takanobu want to _talk_.

So he offered what he could. “Aone,” he grunted.

Did Hinata’s smile widen? Probably. But Takanobu couldn’t tell because suddenly Hinata was leaning against the counter, so close he could see his reflection in his eyes, but he kept going until his lips were nearly against his ear and his hair tickled his cheek, and he whispered.

He’d left Takanobu alone after that, not so much as looking his way as he took orders and mixed drinks.

But he still heard his words over and over again. _I’m going to make you smile_.

Perplexing.

  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouyou knew three things, if nothing else. 
> 
> One. He wasn’t supposed to look forward to his night job. Two. He definitely must not put himself where he wasn’t wanted. And three. He shouldn’t grab two glasses, pour two drinks, and place both on the counter in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what even is this ;D

Asahi could not believe that Hinata had started coming in early, if only to beat him to his side of the counter.

The third night they hadn’t switched back, Asahi was prepared to suggest doing so. But as soon as he stepped inside, Hinata pounced. He yanked Asahi down by his tie so that they were level, eyes big and bright, lit with a fire that Asahi recognized. Such a stubborn little firecracker. Strong too.

Before Hinata could start bargaining -- Asahi could _see_ the words ready to dance off his lips, could already _hear_ the first, “Please, Asahi!” -- the taller bartender sighed and said, “Alright, Hinata. I don’t like it, but alright.”

Asahi would have been less surprised if Hinata had been loud and taken his spot behind the left end of the counter with a little smile of victory like the first night. Instead, he felt the grip on his tie loosen and then arms around his shoulders, a quiet “Thank you, Asahi” whispered in his ear.

Before Asahi could straighten and reply, Hinata was behind the counter, the left side, setting up. He pulled some of the more popular liquor from the back wall and set the bottles on the tabletop that ran against the wall, then disappeared as he chipped some ice off the block under the counter.

Asahi, still standing just inside the door, watched him, noting the spring in Hinata’s step and the ease with which he moved behind his end of the counter. Unfair.

Asahi shook his head, then moved to set up the right. His new post, apparently, for the foreseeable future. He wished change wasn’t so difficult for him, even minor changes like serving drinks from the opposite end of the same counter -- it’s not like you switched _jobs_ or something, Asahi, for Christ’s sake, he thought -- because he still didn’t know anyone’s drinks, still worried about mixing the wrong amount of alcohol with the wrong amount of juice or soft drink, all while Hinata was doing just fine.

He just couldn’t relax. He felt askew. His usuals were quiet, like that tall, burly, blond man that Hinata had fluttered around the past two nights. (Hinata looked so small in comparison, a thought Asahi considered ironic given his and Hinata’s height difference.) His usuals didn’t bother with exchanging names, just nods and grunts, he mixed their drinks, they paid, sometimes left a tip, and it was doable. Comfortable.

Hinata’s more boisterous regulars wanted more flamboyant drinks, made messes, were nice, yes, never rude, but their upfront attitudes put him off. He was used to watching from his side of the counter as the knocked their glasses together in a toast to drunkenness, sloshing their booze all over themselves, the counter, the floor. Hinata handled this all perfectly and with a smile on his face and a joke on his lips, riling his customers up into a drunken frenzy with the right pun.

Now he had to face this crowd head on, without the invisible barrier that separated the right from the left.

It was his third night, though, and he was making progress, adjusting, picking up on tics and getting used to mixing various concoctions. Learning names. All but one.

 

\---

 

Shouyou knew three things, if nothing else.

One. He wasn’t supposed to look forward to his night job. Two. He definitely must not put himself where he wasn’t wanted. And three. He shouldn’t grab two glasses, pour two drinks, and place both on the counter in front of him.

One cranberry vodka, on the house, and a whiskey on the rocks, also on the house.

He also knew he made the man ( _Aone_ , he reminded himself) uncomfortable. He could see it in the tense muscles in his neck, and in the heavy way he averted his eyes.

Because he was Shouyou, he nudged the vodka closer to him in invitation, then slid his own drink toward it in a mock toast, a single clink of glass on glass among a cacophony of bar sounds.

Shouyou was risking a lot, pushing the drink forward. He could tell Aone was a lightweight. He always had one drink, not two, or three, or more, and the shine in his eyes when he stood to leave said that despite his size, Aone could not...handle alcohol, not like how Shouyou knew others could.

“You don’t have to drink it,” Shouyou murmured. He learned that Aone responded better when he was quiet. He considered it a small victory whenever Aone nodded or maintained eye contact for more than a second. “But it _is_ on the house.”

Aone looked at him and then away, running a hand through his hair, which was so light it seemed bleached, even in the muted darkness of the bar. Then he reached for the glass and took a sip.

“Thanks.”

Another small victory.

Shouyou turned to two other drinkers and refilled their glasses. He had to turn away to get a bottle of wine, and when he turned back, Aone was gone, glass empty and money on the counter, plus a small tip.

“It was on the house!” he wailed. The ones left sitting at the bar looked at him with dazed expressions of mild confusion. 

But it was still progress, damn it.

 

\---

 

Asahi watched as the man muttered his thanks to Hinata. The only time he’d ever heard him talk was the first night he came in, when he made his drink specification, and then the second night, when he’d asked for the same thing. After that, silence.

Asahi refocused on the bargoers in front of him. Their glasses were either full or half full, so he wiped down the counter as best as he could to keep busy, sopping up probably ten different types of alcohol that had spilled from half as many glasses.

He stopped when a hand appeared in front of him, palm down, interrupting his path. It was slender, a pretty hand, and it was connected to one of his new regulars, the one who usually came with a guy named Tsukishima. Out of all those who drank on this side of the bar, his was the only name Asahi didn’t know.

 

\---

 

Takanobu pushed out of the bar and into crisp night air. There was no moon tonight.

He was buzzed, and came dangerously close to letting his muscles relax, letting his guard down. It wasn’t even for his own protection, that he closed himself off, but for others. For Hinata. Who wanted him to talk, to open up.

That wasn’t what he went to the bar for, he told himself.

“Fuck,” he growled, after making sure no one could hear him.

 

\---

 

“Where’s, ah...Tsukishima?” Asahi blurted. The man was tall and lean, with black hair that resembled ruffled feathers. Asahi couldn’t gauge the color of his eyes.

“Tsukishima? Someone called him as we were walking in. He’s outside. You know our drinks?”

“Yeah, uh, Sex on the Beach and a virgin strawberry daiquiri, right?” Asahi cursed himself for sounding so unsure. He hated the way the words tasted in his mouth.

“That is correct.”

Asahi could feel the man’s eyes on him as he poured and shook and blended (and worried about proportions). He set both drinks on the counter, one sexy in its already sweaty highball glass and the other, the virgin, in its cocktail glass.  

“I wasn’t into fruity drinks before Kei,” the stranger-but-not-quite stranger admitted. He pulled his glass closer and twirled the straw, evening out the color of the drink.

Asahi paused in the middle of rinsing the blender container in the sink, which both ends of the counter shared. “Pardon?” His voice sounded too loud, but the other seemed to not notice.

“Well. Tsukishima. He likes sugar. Fruit. Why he comes to a bar of all places for his sweet tooth is beyond me.” The man took a sip and nodded to him. Asahi felt infinitely more at ease, knowing he’d gotten this one particular drink right.

“So you started drinking stuff like that because of him.” It wasn’t phrased like a question.

“Habit. Familiarity. Accommodation. _Convenience_ ,” the man replied, and there was a bitterness in the empty pauses between his words, which weren’t an answer, yet said everything.

“Your name?” Asahi moved closer to his new confidant, nerves coiling in thick ropes in his stomach. He hadn’t outgrown his meekness, just covered it under a false veneer of I-know-what-the-fuck-I’m-doing. It allowed him to function as a bartender, even when he was shoved just outside his comfort zone of quiet patrons who ordered simple drinks.

“Akaashi.” He offered no more, no less, just watched Asahi with what he could now tell were deep blue-green eyes. Almost grey. Like the sea during a storm.  

 

\---

 

Shouyou knew he’d put Asahi in a bad spot the first night he’d asked to switch, and had known that not switching back was pretty selfish. He was asking for a lot.

But when he looked over and saw Asahi leaning against the counter, his long braid hanging forward over one shoulder as he talked to Akaashi, Shouyou felt all of his remorse fall flat as the half-finished drink he poured down the drain.

He’d rinsed Aone’s glass already, had poured his own drink down the drain having only taken a sip, and now he was stewing over Aone’s departure even though hours had already passed and other drinkers had come and gone.

He was deliberately avoiding thoughts of Aone. But they clung like the stickiness of the countertop after a spill that had been left to dry.

Maybe because, even though there was nothing small about him, he carried himself like he wanted to take up as little room as possible, and that made Shouyou want to hold his hand and say, hey, look at me, I _want_ you here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was selfish, he thought, wanting to fix someone who so obviously didn’t want to be fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a little shorter, but that means turnaround for the next chapter will be quicker! here's a little angst before the fluff~
> 
> thank you as always for reading and for your patience ₍₍ (ง ˙ω˙)ว ⁾⁾

The alcohol whirred in Takanobu’s blood like a storm, bringing a flush to his cheeks. His undershirt was fused to his skin with sweat like he’d grown a second skin. He unlocked his door, kicking it in with a muddied boot before ducking under the door frame and entering the tiny flat he couldn’t quite call his home.

The combined coldness of the shower and the ceramic under his feet seeped under his skin and to his bones. He hung his head and let the water drip from his hair; it collected in the dips of his collarbones before making its way down his body and to the drain.

It numbed him enough that he didn’t think about the way Hinata’s voice had rumbled low, so low it was barely audible over the noise of the bar. He didn’t think about how even though Hinata muted himself, for him, for Takanobu, he remained radiant. The volume of his consideration, his shy smiles and his drink on the house, was immeasurable.

So used to the invisibility his appearance afforded him, Takanobu couldn’t see how he deserved that kind of warmth.

 

\---

 

Aone didn’t come in the next night, and Shouyou couldn’t help but feel afraid that he’d overstepped. He was ansty and almost dropped a few glasses before Asahi suggested that he cool down in the kitchen, where Tanaka was busy cooking and Yamaguchi was washing dishes.

“Shortie! Whaddya doin’ back here?” Tanaka’s knife clattered to the counter, and he stepped away from the odd-looking vegetable he’d been slicing, yanking his gloves off and wiping his hands on his apron. He threw one arm around Shouyou’s neck and ruffled his hair with the other.

Yamaguchi paused mid glass, soap bubbles coating his skin up to his elbows. There were even some clinging to one of his eyebrows, and he made it worse when he used the back of one hand to brush it away. He laughed as Shouyou tried to wiggle free from Tanaka’s grasp, giving up on his new, uneven, suds-brow.

Shouyou managed to break away from Tanaka, his laugh dying on his lips as he blurted, “Do you think I’m a bad bartender?” His voice cracked on the last syllable.

Tanaka crossed his arms, his stance saying he wasn’t about to tolerate anyone badmouthing Shouyou, least of all Shouyou himself. He grumbled, “What’s this about, Tiny?”

“I just feel like I… like I’m a little bit too much sometimes,” Shouyou said. He bounced on his heels and rubbed his forearms, nervous energy dancing off his skin.

“Whether a person is too much is subjective, Hinata, and for the record you’re a great bartender.” Tanaka’s voice took on that soft, stern tone he got sometimes when Asahi or Yamaguchi worried about fucking up, even after all the time they’d been working for him. “You’re a better bartender than that gentle giant out there, anyway, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Tanaka waggled a finger at Hinata and Yamaguchi’s back, which shook with his laughter. Shouyou chuckled too, but his unease still ate at him.

Shouyou did drop a glass after he returned to his spot at the counter, but he managed to catch it before it shattered. He noticed Asahi watching him, a concerned little wrinkle on his forehead, but didn’t make any other mistakes after that. He was content with finishing his shift on autopilot.

 

\---

 

The second night Aone didn’t come to the bar, Shouyou worried. He shouldn’t have been so forcefully present with someone who wore invisibility like armor. Aone probably preferred a bartender who was everything Shouyou wasn’t -- which was Asahi, he realized with a snort -- and having his world reversed because of Shouyou… he was selfish, he thought, wanting to fix someone who so obviously didn’t want to be fixed.

 

\---

 

Takanobu was not a gambler. Not a taker of chances. He did, admittedly, walk into this particular bar on this particular street on a fluke, but he was never one to leave things up to the uncertainty of fate. He pushed open the door to the bar anyway, cool air chasing away the restlessness that had settled in his stomach two nights prior. He’d made the right choice.

He caught the way Hinata brightened a bit and then fizzled out upon seeing him, like a dying star. Takanobu could tell that it wasn’t disappointment but rather trepidation that made that unnatural mask of reservation slip into place. An unfamiliar ache pulled at his chest. He did this, and he hated it.

Hinata mixed the cranberry vodka and set it before Takanobu, averting his eyes with a deadpan, far-too-formal “enjoy” that buried itself in Takanobu’s chest like a bullet.

Then he placed a napkin down next to the glass, and Takanobu wanted nothing more than to take it up and rip it up for being so polite because civility wasn’t what he came for. He wanted Hinata to push his buttons, to chew him up and spit him back out. He wanted to be dazzled by Hinata’s chipper smile, wanted to be the cause of it, but none of these things were sayable. Instead he was the cause of his dejection.

Takanobu looked at the napkin, his drink untouched and slightly sweaty, and felt for the pen in his pocket. He scrawled a word down, using his other hand to shield it from onlookers, and then flipped the napkin over. He glanced from side to side, noting that everyone else was far too deep into either conversation or their glasses or both to notice him, and then he waited to catch Hinata’s eye.

When he did, Takanobu pushed the napkin forward like an offering.

 

\---

 

Shouyou stared at the word, the lovely, ironically delicate strokes that told him to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ohmykokuroo.tumblr.com) || [other tumblr](http://zeppellii.tumblr.com) || [twitter](https://twitter.com/lovedeluxxxe)


End file.
